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In Americans,
nothing
Trumps emotion
like the Rock?
Who saw Dwayne Johnson's response to the DNC in Ballers this season?
jane taylor Apr 2016
shadows casting forward
pastel edges
of water colored nebulous scenes
once known

i fuse with deja vu
in its feather-like fringe
i beg for the meaning
of history reliving

perhaps it’s a maze
tho’ previously scripted
funhouse mirrors silently mock
our own carnival

or is it a wink?
the north star is nodding
a slight innuendo
we’re not lost at sea

perchance it’s a hint
it is all an illusion
a glitch in the matrix
the black cat walks by

i grasp for the answer
and peer at the ghostly
parchment paper dream
as it dissolves to thin air

©2018janetaylor
Emily Apr 2017
between the concrete river
& the park where the bums share a bottle
wrapped in a brown paper sack,

there is a cul-de-sac of plastic houses
holding hands & sharing manicured lawns
wooden cars that don't even make any smoke
drive down gray asphalt streets.

fathers that tell mothers they have jobs
wear down street corners sharing beers with the bums,
like they already are one.

all these paper families rubbing shoulders
until everyone has paper cuts.
going home to dinner around a table full of paper love.

suburbia is flimsy
paper towns shining white
smiling neighbors & shared lawns
paper people slowly falling apart.

couples with their tongues down each other's throats,
midnight in supermarket parking lots
dribbling beer in the backseat
they bought off the bums.  

they say,
I love you, I love you, I love you.
until she leaves for a paper husband
& he leaves for a paper wife.

now they live on two separate cul-de-sacs
with the same cutout love,
as the parents they despised.

& when they have kids one day
they will tell them
never kiss before driving,
never befriend bums,
or guzzle cheap beer in backseats,
or on park swings.
& never settle for a paper husband
or a paper wife.


remembering the love
that was flimsy,
but never paper.

100,000 miles away from where they grew up
& 3,000 miles away from each other
3 kids each & plastic houses
rubbing shoulders & sharing lawns

living in a paper thin suberbia
chafing under their paper love.
inspired by "Paper Towns" by John Green
theblndskr Aug 2015
Let me tell you the story of my death:

Carving words on the bark of a tree
A poem that means life to me.
Glows through night, my soul delights!

        "Exist beyond my death, oh please...
            So I could live in bliss at least."


But they cut the tree, so mindlessly
Illegally. ****, selfishly!
In chainsaw, I was murdered.

        A massacre,
      ... a massacre of my every being!!


I'm a ghost that forgot, the best in me
Now writes relentlessly
To relive the words, once killed in greed
I found the "
papers*", the poems you lead...

Then before me, is some piece of me
they killed.

I died a hero,
Readers who found their hearts, in death of the writers. Is but ONE.
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